


Catlike

by sxetia



Category: Chrono Cross
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Traits, Barbed Penis, Bathing/Washing, Body Dysphoria, Character Study, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Gender Dysphoria, Healing Sex, Inconsequential Canon Divergence, Interspecies Awkwardness, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Kid vibes with it either way, Making Out, Messy, Missing Scene, Monsterfucking, Physical age difference, Porn with Feelings, Relationship Study, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Serge and Kid got reunited while Serge was in Lynx's body somehow, Serge is trans but Lynx is cis, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, both in the physical sense and emotional sense, gotta make my own damn food in this house, idk I just want Kid to have a kitty bf, it's like a character study but horny, not literally but figuratively, stuff that didn't happen but could have, there's a lot going on here, this isn't technically an age gap because Serge is Kid's age but just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxetia/pseuds/sxetia
Summary: "Something about the danger, about how wrong it all is. In spite of that being with Serge is more right than anything, no matter what form he might take. "
Relationships: Kid/Lynx!Serge (Chrono Cross), Kid/Serge (Chrono Cross)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Catlike

She isn't sure she trusts him — and that's fine. Serge hasn't ever been wholly convinced that he trusts himself, not since Fort Dragonia. It is a pain that they share and a burden that they help one another carry. 

And he _is_ Serge, Kid reminds herself, hammers it in through her thick skull, needles stabbing through her brain manifesting in chills if she thinks about it _too_ hard. The look in those sharp yellow eyes doesn't belong to Lynx; those are Serge's eyes, that careful smile is Serge's and leaves no traces of Lynx's sinister stoic to be found. 

Yet even now, seated in his lap as she wraps a sinewy arm around his bare back and counts the ridges in his spine, feels the coarse texture of his fur brushing up underneath her rough fingertips, cheek against a muscular pectoral with her face half-buried in his unfamiliar scent, the paranoia clings to her. She is haunted by visions of living flame and the aching emptiness of loss every time she looks at his face. When Serge places a hand on her face and carefully caresses her cheek with his thumb and nestles his other fingers in the knotted tangles of her blonde locks, she waits. Specifically, she waits for him to move his hand down and crush her windpipe. 

Kid expects Serge to betray her. Lynx will materialize and reclaim his body any second and kill her where she lay now, at her most vulnerable. 

But Serge does not. He is careful, gentle, and slightly unsure of himself — just as he always has been. It is the same awkward, reserved charm and universal sensitivity that made her take so much to him to begin with. It's as if the bodily transplant doesn't even bother him (and she knows it doesn't, not anymore, because he mentioned on one occasion that he'd grown to appreciate the irony of being in the 'right' body for once), he is so much like himself: calm in the presence of existential change. Her rock. She's used enough to his new form by now that she can recognize the subtle tilts of his chops and the twitches of neatly-groomed whiskers as a smile, sublime as ever. 

It almost comforts her, guard eased down enough to look at Serge for who he is, spirit coming before body — and that makes it the tiniest bit easier to appreciate the form he takes. Begrudgingly, Kid admits to herself that Lynx is a pretty good-looking dude (the physical age gap between them doesn't hurt) and lets herself explore a little — her touches are confident and assertive, fingers tracing the tight lines of muscle beneath his fur and the hard, squared-off shape of his hips. Serge loves it, breathing growing a little heavier as purrs begin to brew in his chest. 

He _purrs_ — that's _adorable!_ Kid breaks out into a snicker, which sends a wrench into the moment's cogs and grinds it to a halt. 

"What's so funny?" Serge asks, that deep voice rumbling out of him like the distant knock of thunder. He's learning to properly pronounce words now, slowly — consonants a little more pronounced and syllables drawn out to compensate for the lack of humanoid lips. It's still so strange to hear Lynx's voice without that bizarre, robotic accent — he _sounds_ like Serge, beach-bum accent clashing hilariously with the smooth baritone it’s delivered with.

Kid shakes her head. "Nothin'. Just didn't 'spect you t'act like a big kitty cat, is all. It's cute." 

The validation creases his features as he looks away for a split second. Kid swears he's blushing under all that fur. His ears twitch. "You're cute," he retorts half-heartedly, only for his eyes to widen as Kid works calloused fingertips behind his ears and scritches at the scalp beneath with bitten-off fingernails. As if on command the steady rumble grows louder, and Serge's entire being quivers with satisfaction as both eyes shut tight. 

Kid smirks. "That all ya got to say in return?"

One eye opens. "No," he says, defiant as if there's something to prove. And hell, maybe there is. God knows she has expectations of her own. 

In turn, that thumb moves from her cheek to the underside of her chin and tilts her head up, eyes locked as beastial gold mix with ocean blues, and then leans down to kiss her. It's an imperfect one, by necessity: he doesn't have much in the way of lips to lock with her, if he opens his jaw he'll probably bite her, and he has to tilt his head at an awkward angle as to not force the tip of her nose up one of his nostrils. But it's real, it's long, and the sparks of passion brew between the two of them. The vibrations of his purr transmit down her throat and her eyes slowly loll shut as she pushes in with hands bringing themselves to his broad shoulders. 

His hands wander as well, though his touch is far more careful and dainty — massive fingers clip the side of her brassiere before he moves to let slitted fingertips work out the definition of her lean muscle and the imprint of ribs against her skin, counting the indentations, and then crossing over to her abdomen. Serge is almost hesitant, movements precise and patient. Kid wonders, silently, if he's afraid he'll hurt her with his new body, strong and naturally weaponized as it is. 

And then she figures she's probably projecting. He's probably just being Serge: soft, nervous, careful. She is too, uncharacteristically so, though she'll die before she'll let him see it — as if the sweat on her brow doesn't betray her. 

The kiss breaks. Kid lets go and wraps both fingers around his wrists, then goads his hand _down... down... down._ Past her navel and below the protection of her waistband so that sunburst brown fur can mingle with the unkempt tresses of faded blue adorning her groin. Serge tightens his lips as if he wasn't expecting her to be so forward and take the lead, but then what the hell was he expecting out of Kid? 

The taut, bare-tooth grin she wears encourages him enough to press their lips together again as his hand works downward, though she still holds onto his forearm like it's an oar and she's fighting open ocean, pulling back and forth, moving with him, making him move, keeping him from pulling away. Eventually in the midst of all the fine little hairs that tickle the very most inside of her thighs, he finds that familiar partition and curls his middle finger around it and rests it there, then moves it forward an inch. 

Kid gasps and lets out the quietest little noise into his mouth, then pushes his arm down to force more movement out of him. He complies — back, and forth, and back, and forth again. Soon he can muster up the courage to curl his finger and gently prod the entrance of her girlhood, pull back and tease the hood a few centimeters overhead, then lay two fingers over it and slowly, carefully massage. For somebody who claims to not have any experience in intimate affairs, Serge sure knows what the hell he's doing — probably helps that he's used to sharing a set of equipment with her.

Her breath is hard and heavy now, deep through her nose and letting it out in little noises, chills up her back and blood pooled in her cheeks. Sometimes the crease where his claws eject catches her little button and tweak it — can't tell if he means to do it or if it's a happy accident — and while she'll neuter him if he dares bring a claw anywhere near her crotch, she can't act as if the thought doesn't set her aflame. 

Something about the danger, about how wrong it all is. In spite of that, being with Serge is more right than anything, no matter what form he might take. 

He keeps a steady rhythm, eyes glued to her face to watch for every reaction and know what buttons to press and which to stay away from. Every time he threatens to dig in she squirms and squeals as she sinks her fingers into his arm, every second meaning one less millimeter of free range he has with his movements. She breaks away to catch her breath, tilts her head back, and finally — _finally_ — lets go of his arm, but only so that she can tug the white brassiere up and toss it over her head, discarded and now rendered useless.

Serge immediately sacrifices whatever sweet freedom Kid has granted as soon as he gets his first look at her chest: heavy, generous in size though not overpowering her lithe frame, little brown nubs standing stiff and glistening with perspiration. His hands (big enough to wholly enfold a breast in one of his palms) get to groping without a second thought, one in each hand as he works his thumbs around the circumference of her areolae and squeezes them gently between thumb and forefinger. Kid bites her lip and grunts as she brings a hand to the back of his head and grips him by the scruff of his neck, freezing him in place before Kid shoves him downwards. 

The end of his muzzle makes contact with the top of her left breast, and for a second Serge pauses like he doesn't know what to do — he blinks a couple of times and plants a peck just below her clavicle to buy himself some time, which elicits a little giggle out of Kid. He glances down like he doesn't know where to go and then settles for the mound he's just kissed, mouth opening to force his tongue out and roughly slither around the center, then lap upwards over her hard nipple. The other hand continues to grope and massage the opposite breast, large size of his hands put to exceptional use as he grabs and squeezes the entirety of it at once. 

Kid recoils slightly and releases a distressed noise, shocks of pain blending in with the pleasure of her sensitive chest receiving Serge's adoration. The hook-shaped growths covering the surface of his feline tongue give it a rough quality, like he was rubbing sandpaper all over her. He glances up at her, tongue still tucked underneath the curve of her breast and slit eyes filled with a palpable worry, then quietly asks "You okay?" The purring stops, his ears twitch and lower, his muzzle creases with concern… 

God, he's adorable.

Kid nods and forces his mouth back onto her sternum. "Aye, jus'... wasn't expectin' that tongue'a yers'. I think I like it, though."

She can feel him smiling against her skin, and chuckle resounds as he starts to move downward yet again. "Just checking," he says muffledly and then gets back to work — slower and more careful now but also with greater force, just enough to make the most of the bristles on his borrowed body's tongue. Serge is perceptive like that — helpful to the very core, all too eager to please. Just how Kid likes him.

The sharp, irregular stinging begins to meld in with the pleasure in small enough pricks to accentuate it, bliss that much sweeter when in the company of pain. It only takes Serge a few moments to realize that Kid _really, really likes it_ a bit rough (he shouldn't be surprised) and therefore commit to it — he goes back and forth between each breast, suckling and teasing her with the ends of those sharp fangs.

While passing over to tend to her right nipple he finally extends a claw from his thumb and traces a circle around the spright of pink at the center of her mound before pushing in to tweak it. Her back arches as she pushes her hips forward and places either knee at his side, breath sucked greedily into her lungs through her teeth. She grabs Serge by the scruff again and pulls him back — then _down._

"Go down," Kid commands. Serge does not. He releases her breasts, places either hand on her respective hip, and _lifts her_ as if she were a toy. She releases a gasp and almost begins to fight for her freedom, fists balled and ready to strike with her nails poised to rip the flesh from the back of his neck, until he rises from the bed and settles her thighs over his shoulders. 

Unsteady steps, creaks against his bedroom's floorboards, one at a time until Kid is pinned up against the wall with Serge's nose planted right below her navel and both of their eyes locked. Serge is well-aware of his strength and how to put it to use — months of acclimating to Lynx's body means he knows his limits and how far he can push them, and _exactly_ how he can best put it to use to please Kid. 

Kid grins, teeth in a chapped lip, and grabs his head just behind either ear, then forces his mouth against her underwear — the last scrap of clothing she's still got. She releases her grip on his neck and moves down to tug them down, just enough so that they expose her, and leaves them strung and suspended between her toned thighs. From there she grabs his head again and re-assumes control. 

"Careful," Kid instructs between heavy breaths as she spreads her legs as far as she can without falling off his shoulders — not like the way he's holding onto her legs leaves much room for movement. "Don't be too rough or nothin' — would hurt like a bitch down there. An' don't even go near me clit, ain't worth it…" 

Serge half-heartedly mumbles out an "uh-huh", eyes glued to the parted pink folds between Kid's legs. She smacks him on the head playfully. "Listen t'me, y'big dolt, I meant what I said about neuterin' ya…!" 

Instead of talking, he puts his mouth to a more practical use: lips make contact with lips and deliver a messy kiss. The pleasure comes in pinprick pangs. Kid shudders and kicks her legs — uselessly, as Serge's grip holds her firmly in place between herself and the wall. His whiskers tickle the inside of her thighs and the dull bristles of his muzzle scratch up against the sensitive flesh of her slit as if he plans only on teasing her and promising release from all the buildup. 

Serge, however, is not that cruel. He lives to serve. He carefully lets his tongue lap once up the slick, wet surface of her entrance before tilting his head down enough to align his lips with it and digs in again. Kid twitches her entire body and gasps; the rough surface of Serge's tongue and its sandpaper affect is amplified tenfold when applied to Kid's womanhood. "F-fuck," she curses only for Serge to affirmatively grunt as he begins to repeat the cycle, steady up-and-down licks to accommodate both himself and Kid to the experience. His hands lift her just enough to reposition her against the wall and practically seat her on his snout, tongue prodding deeper and announcing its presence with a little flick inside of her. 

She can _feel_ everything: Serge's steady purring, the pricks of his tongue's hairs against her insides, his steady breathing and occasional groans, the moisture running down onto his chin and chest… it's the closest thing to bliss Kid has ever experienced, familiar considering she doesn't know existence without a little pain. 

But Serge is far from finished. The tip of his tongue curls around and drags itself diagonally then back again only to repeat the process as he bobs his head up and down to the same steady pace as his licking. He's careful not to draw too far upwards to her most sensitive spot, but he can't help but brush against it and draw near whenever he works his way upwards. Each time it happens Kid's eyes widen and depart upwards as her thighs close around Serge's head to trap him in place. Her fingers nestle behind his ears and get to scratching and petting to encourage him… and reward him. When she peers down she can see his tail dutifully swaying from side to side, practically standing upright in alert attention.

He finds a particular rhythm and shape to carve with his tongue, and with wide eyes Kid moans out as she grips his head and forces him there. "R-right there," she demands as the pressure begins to build, the heat grows unbearable and she feels like she's about to break…

...and as Serge's patience runs thin. He forces his way out of her grip and lets go of her legs only to catch her between the wall and his bare chest. Flushed and short of breath, Kid laughs and licks her lips. "You arse… I was close."

"I-I know," Serge says. "But I, uh… this body is—… it works differently and I can't wait anymore. I need it now." 

Nominally such demands would be followed by an assertion of dominance through brute force — an animal who wants to mate. Kid doesn't mind the thought one bit — if anything it makes her want him that much more as she glances down and lays witness to the distension tenting Serge's underwear: running down towards his leg, stiff, faintly pulsing in sync with his heartbeat. There is a tiny damp spot right at the end. 

But the most he does is reposition his hands so that he's holding her up by her rear end and squeezing needily. She smirks. "What'sa matter, you don't know what t'do?" 

"W-well, I…" He keeps staring down at his own dick with a perplexed expression and lowered ears, as if he's only just learned what sex is. "I've… I've literally never had this happen to me before in my life." He's squirming.

 _Well, of course not, you're a virgin,_ Kid thinks — only to realize that in the heat of her desire she's all but forgotten that her boyfriend is transgender. Kid smiles as fingers scritch him under the chin, then begin to creep down his chest slowly until they're frolicking in the sculpt of his abdominal muscles and creeping towards his underwear. 

"Hey, Kid, uh…" Serge says, then looks up at her, then away. "When we get my body back… if we get my body back…" His ears lower, voice wavering from the noxious cocktail of lust and anxiety. "You'll still… you know, want me, right? I know I'm different now and what I normally am might not be what you're into, but—…"

"You kiddin' me? Only reason I'm not pukin' at seein' this body naked is 'cus your soul's in it, mate." Her off hand jabs a finger into his chest. "I like you 'cus you're _you,_ Serge. No matter what."

That tilted-whisker smile again. "Thanks… I just got worried. I don't mind this as much, but it being so different is, uh… it makes me a little anxious."

Kid can't say she _gets it,_ but she's here for his worries anyways. "Don't worry, arrite…? Just means I got more ways t'make you squirm." 

His face grows incredulous as he lets out an embarrassed laugh. 

"So you gonna screw me, or what?"

"U-uh, will you do the honors…?"

It is distinctly charming that he's so eager to get his hands bloody but is so hesitant and submissive when the pants come off. Her fingers dig away at his waistband as he steps away to give her room (they get caught on his tail for a few seconds) until he's freed, length bounding out and smacking right against her equally-hard stomach. 

Kid's jaw drops — he's long, about as thick as her wrist, colored a mixture between red and pink with spindly barbs peppering every inch or so of its surface. She places a hand atop his shaft and slowly rubs, strokes, gets a feel for the thing. The spines prick and nudge the sides of her fingers on every pass. He whines and breathes in sharply through his nose.

"Bloody hell, Serge…"

"I know, I know…"

It looks like it's gonna hurt, which means Kid is even more determined to impale herself on it. She grabs him by the base (which elicits a throb and a little dribble from his tip) and lifts him up, then drags the tip down her stomach until it meets the brushes of blue and aligns with her entrance. 

She looks up at him. "You read—"

And gets her answer when he pushes his hips up as far as he can and as quickly as she can, immediately making all of Kid's petite frame shrivel and cringe as she cries out in blissful pain. "G-goddammit," she curses, arms thrown around his back and fingernails digging into whatever piece of musculature she can find. 

Kid gets the impression Serge would apologize if his body wasn't doing the talking — pushing his hips in until he can't fit anymore and then roughly pulling back, then in again, his thrusts bouncing Kid between his hips and the wall. His purrs trade blows with growls and groans of bliss, drowning out whatever noises she might make. 

Kid wraps her legs right around his waist to destroy any distance between them, making it so that he couldn't even remove himself if he wanted to. He feels even bigger than he looks — her inner walls constrict and struggle to keep hold of the entire thing, though the harder and deeper Serge pushes the more she finds that she tightens around him. "A-ah, fuck…!" The barbs scrape her from inside and out, adding another degree of intensely bitter pleasure to the overwhelming sensation of getting fucked by a beast.

Serge keeps going harder. And harder. Kid didn't think he had it in him. Maybe he didn't; maybe it's just the animal he shares a body with taking over.

Eventually their bodies' unity is marked by a steady smack of skin on fur that marks his hilting within her. The rare patches of softness on her body (her breasts, her rear, the round shape of her cheeks) all ripple with every impact, limbs soon to follow as her grip loosens and legs unwrap from around his waist. Both simply bounce and wave with every thrust and her head lolls off to the side. 

She lets her eyes roll down, to watch their connection. Sprouting from beneath her pubic hair and running in and out from the top of her groin to a few inches under her navel is a barely-visible bulge in her stomach, a subtle, tiny distention that offers a display of just what Serge is doing to her.

That pressure again. The need, the line between pain and pleasure blurring and disappearing entirely. Heat — heat and selfish, lustful _need._

"Serge," Kid groans as she wraps both hands around his wrists and squeezes _tight._ "Keep… keep goin'..."

He growls and does — as if she's in control anymore to begin with. Hell, maybe he isn't in control either. For now the only thing that exists in that room is instinct and desire, and the match that will make that mixture explode. 

Just a little farther, just a bit more. Kid isn't so much gently pushed off her peak as she is tackled down to the ground, the way that Serge pummels her with every hip-brusing thrust. It comes subtly at first then overwhelms her, cognition blanked and giving way only to raw sensory. His scent, his voice, the taste of spit and sweat, the bulge in her stomach, and every nerve in Kid's body exploding at once. She moans until her voice won't work anymore and then settles for simple gasps and deep breaths, until finally her eyes shut tight and her brain bursts from within.

And yet he keeps going — over and over again, forcing her over that peak a second or third time, she's lost count, he wasn't counting to begin with, counting doesn't matter because in his bestial mind the only thing that matters is—

The roar as his eyes shut tight and head throws back, forcing himself to hilt as he empties himself right into her. His claws eject at his peak and cut bright streaks of red into either cheek, claiming her inside and out. Kid can _feel_ herself being filled to the brim and feels it, hears it running down her legs and dripping onto Serge's floorboards. Warm, thick, a _lot_ of it, all inside her and out of her, marking the end of things and yet reinforcing the _permanence_ of it all.

* * *

He stays there until his senses come back, and he sees her limp and breathless against the wall, a mess of sweat and spit and blood and seed, and he curses himself for losing control, curses this body, curses the fact that he’s been forced into it… and then quietly, graciously thanks whatever God damned him to this fate that she wants to be with him in spite of it all.

Whenever he removes himself from her it makes a sickeningly wet sound, first from tissue on tissue and then as all of _it_ drips out of her and makes a mess below them. He brings her close, cradles her little body against him, and as he goes to touch her face he notices the blood. Not a lot of it, but the fact that any was drawn at all is unacceptable — eyes lock on the four cuts plastered all over her rear. “God dammit,” he mumbles, and only then does she begin to stir.

His heart skips a beat. He wipes off his fingers on his own fur and runs them through those tangled knots, from blue roots to bleached tips, careful not to rip any out of her head or be too rough. “You okay?” he asks. God, she’s a mess. He starts to stalk down the hall and towards the bathroom, never more thankful than he is now for running water. One of Arni’s few modern conveniences, and probably the most serendipitous his family could have possibly opted for.

“Mnngh…” Kid winces, then opens one eye and laughs. “Aye, jus’--... that bloody well _hurt,_ ” she whines. “Didn’t know y’even had it in ya.”

“I didn’t either,” he says. The guilt and embarrassment can come later; for now his priorities are making sure Kid is okay. “Hurts good, though. I like it.”

He takes that as a reason for relief and nudges the door open with his foot. “Yeah, just… you know. I worry.”

“I know you do, Serge. Big softie even when you’ve got that bastard’s face. But thas’ what makes you _you._ Wouldn’t have it no other way, even if I like gettin’ smacked around a bit.”

* * *

Kid giggles in amusement as she looks over her shoulder at her own ass, then playfully shakes it from side to side. "Gonna make sittin' down a real pain in th'arse, ain't it? Pain in th’arse? Geddit? Eheh… Yer' gonna hafta' carry me everywhere again."

Serge frowns, mildly humiliated, and looks up to avoid her gaze as he pushes back. "S-sorry. Don't know what came over me." The bathtub can barely hold Serge in his current form it's so small, much less the both of them — but he makes it work, legs curled against his chest so that she has enough room to wash herself off. He isn't really sure how effective a bath is with a body covered in fur, anyways. Mostly it's for her sake.

She splashes him a little, and he twitches as it pelts against his chest. "I ain't complainin', mate, shut up. Think it's nice that'cha got a little backbone fer' once."

He smiles, awkwardly. "I'll… keep it in mind, I guess…?"

"You better," she teases as she clambers up onto him and rests her head against his chest. "'Cus I like it an' I ain't gonna settle fer’ just once."

He gently, daintily lays a hand on Kid's back and stares down at her. He can't believe how different she looks when the war paint's come off. Then again it's only fair — God knows she's seen a side of him nobody else has tonight. "That's a relief."

Kid pauses, then looks up and gives him a shit-eating grin. "Ain't cats supposed to hate baths…?"

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've written and published solo smut and i don't know when or if i'll do it again so cherish this
> 
> society would be too damn powerful if kid and serge had more moments while serge was lynx and they got to work out how fucking awkward that entire thing is but i gotta make my own god damn food in this house
> 
> this was mostly just for me but if you like it then hell yeah


End file.
